Chapter 4
JORDAN
The dining room is in a state of chaos, as it is for every holiday. My mom’s trying to juggle the mashed potatoes, turkey platter, and the green bean casserole she insists on making every year—even though no one eats it.
Travis steps in smoothly, reaching for each item one at a time and placing them on the table.
“Mrs. Thorne, let me help you,” Nina says, springing from her chair like she’s been waiting for this moment her whole life. She hurries to the kitchen.
I catch Travis’ attention, and smirk. “How sweet. Your girlfriend’s trying to make a good impression on Mom.”
Even though he’s trying to remain cool, I don’t miss the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
“Well, she’s already made a good impression on me,” Dad adds.
“She brought me a bottle of whiskey.” He raises a glass with the amber liquid and takes a sip.
His eyes briefly fall closed, as if it’s the best whiskey he’s ever tasted.
And knowing Nina’s expensive tastes, it probably is. “Here’s to my future daughter-in-law.”
The rest of us break into laughter. Travis doesn’t bother denying he’s interested in a more permanent future with Nina, and that makes me happy. He deserves to be with a woman who appreciates him.
Mom and Nina return with more side dishes. Travis plays host again, clearing a path and distributing the glass bowls to empty spots on the table so Mom and Nina can take their seats.
Reed kicks my foot under the table. I glance his way, and he’s smirking mischievously. I’ve seen that expression my whole life, and it usually means he’s about to annoy someone.
With a dramatic flair, Reed picks up his fork and knife, one in each hand, and bangs them against the table like a hungry Viking. “We want to eat. We want to eat.”
Drew jumps in immediately, matching his rhythm. The two of them chant like toddlers who’ve gone too long without eating.
Mom rolls her eyes, laughing. “The sooner you two stop your nonsense, the sooner we can.” And just like that, they fall silent with exaggerated obedience.
“Will you please pass me the turkey, honey?” Mom asks Dad.
He plates a generous slice for himself before passing the platter to her.
She takes some and hands it to Travis, who passes it to Nina.
Then Dad starts the mashed potato relay, and soon every dish is in rotation.
My white plate starts disappearing under a mountain of food.
When I reach for the stuffing, Reed refuses to let go of the bowl, and it tilts dangerously toward my lap.
“You two knock it off,” Mom scolds. “My God, I figured by the time you were grown men we could have a civilized dinner.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Mom,” Reed says, not even trying to sound sincere. He lets go of the bowl, and I scoop a generous helping before handing it to Drew. It’s just the usual Thorne family Thanksgiving madness.
Well… not exactly.
My gaze slides across the table to Ginger.
Her green eyes are wide as she looks around like she’s stumbled into a reality show.
Her shoulders are tense, like she’s waiting for someone to launch a dinner roll at her.
I’d like to say that’s never happened before, but once when we were kids, Reed accidentally nailed Aunt Mary in the face with a crescent roll.
To this day, he swears it was an accident, but I still don’t believe him.
I fork some turkey and stuffing into my mouth. Ginger glances at me, and I give her a quick wink. Her lips curve into a half smile. She picks up her fork and starts eating slowly and neatly, like a civilized human.
It’s weirdly attractive.
Reed kicks my foot again.
“What?” I mutter, turning to him.
He leans in and whispers, “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“You’re being a creeper.”
I shake my head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He snickers. “You’re not as smooth as you think you are.”
I don’t care if my brothers are aware of my feelings for Ginger, but I don’t want her to know about them. One night with her wouldn’t be enough, and there’s no way she’d agree to date me. Besides, I don’t date women. I have brief flings that never amount to more than a good time.
“So, Ginger, how’s business been?” Mom asks, cutting a roll in half and buttering it.
Ginger pauses, fork in midair. “It’s been great, thanks.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’ve wanted to stop by, but we’ve been so busy since we got back into town.”
“You should swing by while she has the cranberry muffins,” I suggest. “I didn’t even realize I liked cranberries until last week.”
Ginger grins. “Or gingerbread coffee.”
I chuckle. “That too.”
Drew makes a face. “How’d you get Jordan to drink flavored coffee willingly?”
“She didn’t give me a choice,” I say.
Ginger shrugs, unapologetic. “Sorry, not sorry.”
Nina grins and leans over for a fist bump. “That’s my girl.”
“For the record,” I add, “it was delicious. And for the sake of all the men at this table who shudder at the thought of flavored coffee, I was once like you. But now I’m telling you to try gingerbread. You won’t regret it.”
“My granddaughter doesn’t make a single thing that doesn’t taste good,” Pops brags, beaming.
Ginger leans her head against his shoulder. “Aww, thanks.”
Across the table, my grandfather leans forward and jabs a thumb toward Pops. “Too bad my stingy friend here doesn’t like to share.”
I shake my head and droll, “That’s really helpful, Gramps.”
“I’ll send some treats home with one of your grandsons,” Ginger says sweetly.
“Pfft. They’ll never make it to me,” Gramps replies without hesitation.
Reed holds up his hands. “I’m not even going to deny that accusation. I know my limits.”
“I guess I’ll have to drop them off myself,” Ginger tells Gramps.
“Can you bring some of that gingerbread coffee too?” he asks.
She nods. “I sure can.”
“You might want to bring extra muffins, and guard them with your life,” I say, tipping my head toward Reed, who’s already eyeing Ginger like she’s the family’s dealer. “This one has zero shame.”
Reed shrugs as he chews and swallows a mouthful of food. “If loving muffins is wrong, I don’t want to be right.”
Ginger laughs, and the easy sound stirs a warmth in my chest. She’s relaxed now, her shoulders no longer so tight, her fork moving through her mashed potatoes. She even jumps into the chaos, passing the rolls to Drew.
She fits here. I’m surprised by how well she does, but that’s not something I should be thinking about right now—or ever.
Ginger needs to remain off-limits, as she always has.
I’ve never crossed that line, and I never will.
Our lives are already intertwined because our families are friends, and we’re part of the same social circle.
The possibility of fallout from things going wrong is enough to make me keep my distance.
My mom catches my eye from across the table. She smiles, glances at Ginger, then looks back at me, as if she’s telling me she knows what’s happening. I lower my eyebrows and shake my head, silently telling her she’s wrong.
My focus returns to eating everything that’s left on my plate. When I’ve finished, I lean back in my chair and rub my stomach. I may be full, but there’s still plenty of room for dessert.
Pops clears his throat and raises his glass, silencing the room.
“All right, before we have dessert and the pie coma kicks in, and someone ends up snoring on the couch with their pants unbuttoned…” He pauses, leveling a pointed look at Gramps, who shrugs good-naturedly.
“I want to thank our friends, the Thorne family, for so graciously sharing this delicious meal with us. The last couple of years have been difficult without my dear Helen, but it’s days like this that make it all worthwhile.
Here’s to full stomachs, loud conversations, never-ending laughter, family, and friends. ” He lifts his glass. “Cheers.”
We all raise our glasses. “Cheers,” we echo before we drink.
Glancing across the table, I find Ginger laughing at something Nina’s saying to her. Her cheeks are pink, and her eyes shine. For a second, all the noise around us fades. It’s just her. She’s all I see.
Reed kicks my foot, yanking me back to reality. I send him a grateful look. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” He leans over whispering, “Seems like you’ve got some thinking to do, bro.”
I don’t bother denying anything. I just nod, because he’s right.
I’ve always been attracted to Ginger. But sometime over the summer, my feelings for her started changing, and they’re becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
And now, tonight, we’re going to make edibles together. Fuck me. I’m in big trouble.
I knock on Laugh A Latte’s door and then wait for Ginger to let me in.
“Hey again,” she says, smiling. I follow her inside, and she leads me to the kitchen.
“I bet at this point you’re regretting offering to help me.”
She shakes her head and lets out a quick laugh. “Not at all. I’m actually excited to try something new, even if I feel like we’re about to commit a federal offense.”
“Technically, it’s legal,” I say, holding up a plastic syringe of full-spectrum cannabis oil. “But we can pretend we’re outlaws if you want.”
She shrugs. “If we’re going to be criminals, at least we’re festive ones.”
“Gingerbread and questionable decisions?” I suggest.
“Molasses and moral ambiguity?” She grins.
“That’s even better.”
She takes a quick bow. “Thank you.” She snatches two aprons from a hook and tosses one at me. “Put that on. You’re not allowed near my equipment without supervision.”
I loop the apron over my head. “If I can handle saws and drills, I’m sure I can manage to work a mixer.”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
She gets busy laying out ingredients along her stainless steel counter. There’s flour, sugar, pumpkin puree, vanilla chips, and a bowl of spices that smell good enough to eat. She points to a bowl. “Wash your hands, then crack two eggs and add the pumpkin and sugar.”
The first one cracks cleanly, but I botch the second one. A chunk of shell dives into the bowl.
She shakes her head. “Amateur. Nothing like crunchy pumpkin bars.”
“I prefer to think of it as a little surprise,” I say, fishing it out.
She snorts and moves around the kitchen with the kind of ease that tells me she could do this in her sleep. In fact, I’ve never seen her look so relaxed.
“All right, G, when do we add the fun stuff?”
“Baking is all about patience.”
“Yeah, which we know I don’t have,” I say, chuckling.
Her amused gaze flicks to me before returning to the pan she’s warming on the stove. “The best things in life are worth waiting for.”
“So I’ve heard.”
She nods toward a small bowl filled with orange gunk. “Add the pumpkin puree and the cup of sugar to the eggs, then stir.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I do as she instructs, making sure it’s all mixed together well.
She comes over with the small pan in hand. “I hope your arm’s not tired. I’ve heated the cannabis oil, and I’m going to combine it with the other ingredients.” She carefully pours the brownish oil into the bowl.
“I can do whatever you need,” I tell her.
“Good, because this oil is strong and needs to be mixed thoroughly. Otherwise we’re going to fuck your buyers up. Although, I guess that’s the point, right?”
“It depends on the individual.” I start out moving the spoon slowly, being careful not to spill any of the oil. “Some of my customers like the feeling of getting high. But the majority come for the health benefits it provides.”
Her dark-blonde eyebrows rise on her forehead. “Health benefits? How do you figure?”
“Marijauna is helpful for people with chronic pain. It can help with anxiety and sleep disorders, and settles nausea.”
“I guess I didn’t think about the other people who buy it. I figured most just liked to smoke or eat edibles.”
“There are plenty who do, but for some it’s a necessity.” I put some muscle behind my stirring, whipping the batter inside the bowl. “I don’t smoke, but I sure like edibles.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“What can I say? Sometimes I want to chill out.”
“I don’t think I’m capable of that. My brain never shuts down. I make most of my to-do lists in bed before I fall asleep.”
“Sex is great for shutting off your brain,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “You’d know.”
“You should try it sometime. I’ll even offer you the use of my body for the experiment’s sake.”
She scoffs. “Because that wouldn’t be weird at all.”
“Why would it be? People have sex all the time.”
“Yeah, but we’re friends.”
“And we’d still be friends after I gave you multiple orgasms.”